Realistic or Modern 𝕋𝐇𝐄 𝕂𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝙂𝘼𝙈𝙀 // yearbook (CS)

[BELIAL.]

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  sheets

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  blasphemous rumours

  
  
  
  

  depeche mode

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  CHARACTER SHEETS.

  
  
  
  

  R

  ather than your standard, boring character sheet, I have truncated the necessary information and encouraged more character development. All I require of the sheets are the basics in formation, a synopsis of your character, and a sample of them. It's okay if these feel a little rough or uncomfortable, characters develop and grow through the RP: this is just a taste and a chance to hone in on that. Plus, well, who doesn't hate writing backstories and personalities?
  
  I will reiterate that not all characters will be accepted, and these will not be first come first serve. FIRST APPS WILL BE DUE IN ONE WEEK - JULY 19th. Feel free to submit one or two characters, but please be aware that they will both be liable to die or be killed. I will check apps after the first week if there are finished ones, and then the week after. Characters will not be denied on any basis other than whether or not the tone and setting is applied and understood.
  
  Faceclaims are to be realistic or descriptions. No art, no AI art, no anime. Ages are to be 17-19 for students, 27-29 for survivors and everyone else can fall inbetween or over. No one younger than 17. No one pregnant. The RP takes place in 1989 - please keep that in mind for your characters and their backstories. I have supplied the lore, linked on the code, and if you need any questions or want to insert your character into the history of the town, please ask! I'd love to include it!
  
  The next post will have a character sheet with the required information. If you don't wanna use it, that's fine with me, but please only include the information asked for and provided.
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
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  roles

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  roles.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  GRAD CLASS OF 1989

  
  
  
  

  open

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Congrats seniors! This is your crowning achievement of the last 12 years of your miserable lives! Whether you're excited for the future or looking forward to retail hell, this is your moment! Unfortunately, the recent murder of your classmate has put a bit of a damper on that. Do you believe that Robin's death is something notable to the Killing Game, or do you believe that it's just a pure accident. The rumours haven't been particularly kind about Robin's passing, and have shed some suspicious light on the conditions of his death. After what your sibling/friend/family member went through, it's a wonder that you haven't already felt the chopping block rubbing against your neck.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  THE SURVIVORS

  
  
  
  

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  Life after surviving a tragedy can't have been good for you. Whether you were a potential victim of the slaughter, related to a victim, or found yourself excused by fate from the incident, knowing that it could have been you on the coroner's slab probably keeps you up at night. Putting Cobre Flats behind you after 1979, if you have, was probably your best choice. However, by some reason or another... you've come back. Maybe it's coincidence, or maybe you got a phone call leaving you in a cold sweat, taunting you to return. Either way, hey! You're here! And you're probably gonna get killed! Or survive. Have you been practising your left hook?
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  THE CIVILIANS

  
  
  
  

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  Unrelated to any of the bullshit that's happened, and has happened, you're just someone unremarkable. But hey, maybe tonight's your night to shine! Feeling like a victim? A hero? Test your luck! ANYONE WITH THIS ROLE CANNOT BE RELATED TO OR INVOLVED IN THE MASSACRE.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  THE AUTHORITY

  
  
  
  

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  Every slasher needs its unwitting cops. Maybe it's your first year in Cobre Flats, or maybe you're a veteran of the Killing Game— either way, you're here now and about to be confronted with another wave of murders. Do your best to figure out the killer, to stop the killings, and maybe save your own life while you're at it.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  rules

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rules.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule one.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  as it is a slasher rp, people will die— and it could be your OC. it's highly recommended to double up. do not create a character that is impervious to being killed, or would otherwise be a little insensitive to kill, such as being pregnant. all characters that are of the current graduating class will be 17-19 years old. all characters of the surviving class will be 27-29. all OCs should have some connection to the original victims, any survivors, or the legend itself (by family, friends or other association. the freedom is all yours!)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule two.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  all writers please be over 18! posts should be somewhat frequent, two paragraphs minimum, with everyone posting at least once a week. if you can do more, great! we will be operating with some freedom between 'chapters', and during these you may post with who you want and do what you want. these chapters will be guided to some degree by events happening, deaths being called or other overall plot related events. ghost-friendly rp! if you run out of interest, get bored or get too busy, just let me know! if you ghost however your character(s) are liable to being killed, though you will have a say in how they are killed (so have fun with that!) relationships between characters aren't required but it is recommended; cobre flats is a small town, and everyone knows everyone to some degree.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  rule three.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  the identity of the killer will be known to me and whoever is chosen: pitch it to me privately, or if folks want a free for all, I will randomly select someone. If no one wants to be the killer I'll use an NPC. I'm flexible! I just want us to have fun, tell a fun little (slasher) story, and see where it goes! Hell, maybe we'll get a sequel!
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

sheets

roles

rules

THE KILLING GAME

a slasher

horror

genre

horror, mystery

status

accepting

gm

BELIAL.

spots open

2/??

more info?

to come!

cs

lore

ooc

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[BELIAL.]

CHARACTER NAME

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name:
  
  Age: (17-19 for current graduated students; 27-29 for survivors)
  
  Occupation: (if applicable; student for a student)
  
  Role: (Grad Class 1989, Survivors, Citizien, Authority)
  
  Faceclaim: (if applicable)
  
  Relation: (if applicable, relation to any original victim or grad class of 1979)
  
  Native or Newbie: (born and raised in Cobre Flats, or moved here?)
  
  Lucky item: (What's something they keep on hand, or that they keep in their bedside drawer for good luck? A superstition?)
  
  Ideal Nightmare: (What's the sort of nightmare that would keep them up, that would haunt them for days? Does not have to be incredibly insightful; can be just a batshit nightmare)
  
  
  
• Synopsis of your character here! At minimum please include:
  
  1. Their relationship to the town of Cobre Flats
  
  2. Any applicable relationship to the massacre of '79
  
  3. Their current outlook (of Robin's death, of the Killing game, of graduating, etc.)
  
  4. Some vague idea of personality, at least at a glance.
  
  
  
  
• Please write these in-character, as you would a regular post. Please take them seriously, as this is a secondary way of showing character and getting a feel for them! If you want to do more than one, go ahead. These do not have to be canon to your character, in the case of prompt 2 and 3. Prompt choices:
  
  1. Y/C (your character) awakes in a cold sweat. What's their ritual for coming down from a bad dream?
  
  2. First day of therapy. Describe Y/C's emotions, feelings, thoughts and actions. The first question the therapist asks: How are you doing? Be as honest, as flippant, as evasive as needed.
  
  3. Quick— there's only two exits out of the house. Up the stairs or out the front door. Describe the scenario. Feel free to make up whatever situation you would like, befitting the prompt.
  
  Don't like any of these? Feel free to make up your own!
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

Spoiler: CS CODE

[div=border: none; margin: auto; padding-left: 20%][div=border: 0px; margin: auto; display: flex; flex-direction: row; padding-left: 12%;][div=border: 0px; padding-left: 20px; margin-top: 60px; width: 50%; font-size: 20px; text-align: center; font-family: Satisfy; line-height: 30px;]CHARACTER NAME
[divide][/divide]
[comment]replace the https link with an image of your character, or anything relevant. or don't change it, up to you[/comment]
[div=border: 0px; display: flex; padding-top: 30px; justify-content: center][heightrestrict=300][IMG]https://i.pinimg.com/564x/a8/a6/56/a8a656de8a5e88bfd2e8d5f6599855fc.jpg[/IMG][/heightrestrict][/div]
[divide][/divide]
[comment]yo if you steal this it's fine just don't remove this or I'll find you - Archangel_[/comment]
[tabs][tab=BASICS][div= border: 0px; width: 100%; height: 100%; background: transparent; position: relative; padding-top: 7%; padding-left: 2%;][div= border: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 90%; height: 325px; overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; overflow: hidden; background: transparent][div= border: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 100%; height: 75%; overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 30px; font-size: 14px; line-height: 15px; text-align: justify; font-family: Times New Roman;]Full Name:

Age: (17-19 for current graduated students; 27-29 for survivors)

Occupation: (if applicable; student for a student)

Role: (Grad Class 1989, Survivors, Citizien, Authority)

Faceclaim: (if applicable)

Relation: (if applicable, relation to any original victim or grad class of 1979)

Native or Newbie: (born and raised in Cobre Flats, or moved here?)

Lucky item: (What's something they keep on hand, or that they keep in their bedside drawer for good luck? A superstition?)

Ideal Nightmare: (What's the sort of nightmare that would keep them up, that would haunt them for days? Does not have to be incredibly insightful; can be just a batshit nightmare)
[/div][/div][/div]
[/tab]
[tab=SYNOPSIS][div= border: 0px; width: 100%; height: 100%; background: transparent; position: relative; padding-top: 7%; padding-left: 2%;][div= border: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 90%; height: 325px; overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; overflow: hidden; background: transparent][div= border: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 100%; height: 75%; overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 30px; font-size: 14px; line-height: 15px; text-align: justify; font-family: Times New Roman;]Synopsis of your character here! At minimum please include:

1. Their relationship to the town of Cobre Flats

2. Any applicable relationship to the massacre of '79

3. Their current outlook (of Robin's death, of the Killing game, of graduating, etc.)

4. Some vague idea of personality, at least at a glance.

[/div][/div][/div]
[/tab]
[tab=SAMPLE][div= border: 0px; width: 100%; height: 100%; background: transparent; position: relative; padding-top: 7%; padding-left: 2%;][div= border: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 90%; height: 325px; overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 5px; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; overflow: hidden; background: transparent][div= border: 0px; padding: 0px; width: 100%; height: 75%; overflow-y: scroll; overflow-x: hidden; padding-left: 5px; padding-right: 30px; font-size: 14px; line-height: 15px; text-align: justify; font-family: Times New Roman;]Please write these in-character, as you would a regular post. Please take them seriously, as this is a secondary way of showing character and getting a feel for them! If you want to do more than one, go ahead. These do not have to be canon to your character, in the case of prompt 2 and 3. Prompt choices:

1. Y/C (your character) awakes in a cold sweat. What's their ritual for coming down from a bad dream?

2. First day of therapy. Describe Y/C's emotions, feelings, thoughts and actions. The first question the therapist asks: How are you doing? Be as honest, as flippant, as evasive as needed.

3. Quick— there's only two exits out of the house. Up the stairs or out the front door. Describe the scenario. Feel free to make up whatever situation you would like, befitting the prompt.

Don't like any of these? Feel free to make up your own!

[/div][/div][/div]
[/tab]
[br][/br]
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[center][size=2]coded by BELIAL.[/size][/center][/div]

 

[BELIAL.]

JENNY JOHNSON

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name: Jennifer Jolie Johnson
  
  Age: 29
  
  Occupation: Child Psychologist
  
  Role: Survivor
  
  Faceclaim: Katheryn Winnick
  
  Relation: Injured in the Massacre of '79, Best friends with Marcia Lawrence a victim of '79
  
  Native or Newbie: born and raised in Cobre Flats
  
  Lucky item: A soda can tab ring she and Marcia had made back in elementary school, doesn't fit her finger anymore but it's got a little plastic gem on the top haphazardly glued in place. They'd made it for each other, saying that they'd promise to give it whoever they married one day.
  
  Ideal Nightmare: Lifeless on the ground, Marcia's face staring straight back at Jenny. Unable to move herself, she's rooted to the spot, a corpse half buried on the hardwood floor of the entryway. All she can see is Marcia, and all she can hear are the screams and faint music playing, because nobody turned it off. She hears footsteps, but she can never see who's coming. Nobody comes. It's the two of them, but there's no saviour, no bright lights. Marcia rots, decaying and falling apart in front of her. Jenny's fine. She's just fine.
  
  
  
• An all encompassing California girl, with blonde hair and a history of cheerleading and cherry tasting kisses, at some point Jenny Johnson had life going for her. With a flourishing modelling career on the side, on behalf of her 'forward-thinking' socially relevant mother, her future was perfectly laid out. If it wasn't modelling, maybe she'd do Miss America. If it wasn't Miss America, maybe she'd start her own fashion brand. She had a face that could sell, her mother would say. Don't put it to waste. Diet pills and the overbearing watch of a woman more concerned with her daughter's perfection than her own parenting habits left Jenny restless by the time she reached high-school, capable of enough self reflection to realize she didn't want any of it. But she'd never speak up, never say anything. It would lead to arguments, or it would lead to guilt. I'm doing all that I can for you, Jenny! I'm your mother!
  
  She rebelled where she could, under the guise of extra curriculars that took up all of her evenings and her weekends. Despite her mother micro-managing everything that she did, all it took was a single breakdown in front of her father to get some traction, and independence on Jennifer's side. This free time she spent out partying, accumulating quite a name for herself as her ability to shotgun a beer can proved impressing enough to her classmates. She was fun, she could sing loudly, and Jenny always made a party fun. Trying to prove that she had a hold on her life and some level of control, however left Jenny quite the degrading person if you knew her from a distance. Appearing rather vapid and rude, she did her best to keep her haughty crown high on her head. The attention of others was more gratifying than the closing grasp of her mother's influence, but it felt a byproduct as well.
  
  Jennifer hadn't been there the night of Jonny's death, but she'd just about known everyone involved. Hearing from Marcia the gritty details, how fucked the whole thing had been left a bad taste in her mouth. But what else was there to do? She'd only known Ruth in a class or two, not being her nicest person, but it wasn't like Jenny had known that Ruth would snap. She'd gone to the party with Marcia, arms full of beers they'd pocketed from Jenny's basement, and they'd only been there an hour before the carnage began. Some of the last to be attacked, Marcia was one of the last people that Ruth targeted. Jenny had tried to defend her, only to get a few holes poked in her with Ruth's blade. Ruth hadn't meant to hurt Jenny, she was sure of it— Jenny wouldn't harbor any hate for the woman later in life.
  
  Waking up in a hospital the next day, hooked up to all the machines and the tubes, Jenny wondered if she'd be better off dead. Only bits and pieces of the story were gleaned by her by her parents, by anyone who showed up. Aside from the reporters, the only person she turned away was Colt. He'd saved her life, been the love of her life: she'd left him collecting himself in the waiting room. With her parents around, she'd not wanted them to know about him. To know about them. Mixed with all the emotions from the night prior she said thing she'd regretted, but they didn't see each other after that to warrant an apology.
  
  Her parents split a year later, enough time for Jenny to move across the country with her father. She'd preferred it, but she'd regretted leaving her sister behind; leaving everyone behind.
  
  Starting a new life proved better than Jenny would have thought, and with a heavy dose of prescribed medication for the healing after the surgeries she'd gone through and a hardy therapist, she considered herself a better person as she scraped and moulded the Jenny she used to be into someone else. Studious, starting community college while still having nightmares about the massacre. It was like it hadn't happened. Her dad let her forge her own path in life, and with the newfound freedom Jenny cut back on her partying and drinking. She went completely clean (in some part due to the drugs she was on), and after having a heart to heart with her therapist, decided she wanted to do something good with the rest of her life.
  
  Helping other kids, ones in maybe worse situations than her, was the only thing that Jenny could think of. She needed to keep going, to keep moving, and focusing on other people's problems was cathartic enough. Pursuing her Master's, she graduated top of her class with a shiny job offer in hand at a private practice. Starting out with only a handful of patients, it became clear that this was what she was meant to do. She became hardened, clinical and empathetic only in phases. Her kindness was blunt, her words more severe. Memories would filter in, harsher now than before, and despite all that she'd worked toward, she only found herself nursing a bottle of pills and a bottle of wine in order to cope. It became a habit, which quickly became an addiction. She was functioning, as far as she presented, and she refused to do anything about it.
  
  Maintaining a rocky relationship with her mother, and a somewhat fractured one with her sister and anyone else from Cobre Flats, Jenny vowed to never return. Not even for the holidays. She was married at twenty-five, though that only lasted a couple of years. Didn't have kids— couldn't have kids. They divorced in due time, Arthur handing her the divorce papers over dinner one night. He'd never explained why beyond the drinking and the pills, just said that he couldn't do it anyway. She thought part of it was due to their failings as a married couple, a guilt resonating deep in her that she couldn't be as perfect as she'd always been told she was. This change didn't stop them from seeing each other six months later, but never making a promise to get back together. Maybe he liked the freedom. It was something Jenny could understand. Life became a destructive rhythm, but at least she could follow it.
  
  Getting a phone-call in the middle of the night, taunting her to return to Cobre Flats, however— she could neither plan for that or know how to adjust. But she would go. She had a sister there, and even if the call was a fake... maybe it was time to smooth old wounds. It wasn't like she'd done any better of a job at keeping her new life from falling apart, either.
  
  
  
  
• Fuck!
  
  Bolting upright in bed, Jenny could feel the sweat stick her flesh to the cotton sheets and thin silk of her nightgown. Her chest, rising and falling to the rapid beat of her heart, proved some of the only grounding she could get. The bedroom was dark, darker than usual. It was cloudy that night, wasn't it? Summer humidity clung to the windows— she'd forgotten to open them before bed. Maybe that was why she'd had her nightmare again (an answer only half reliable, as the nightmares seemed to come whenever they wanted to).
  
  Brushing a hand over her forehead, wiping the slickened hair from her face, Jenny threw her legs over the edge of the bed and posed for a moment, elbows on her knees, staring at the hard ground. Her toes curled on the plush carpet, feeling swollen and hot. She felt horrible.
  
  Marcia... was all she could think of, as the nightmares were usually only of that night. The worst night of her life; worse than divorce, fertility clinics and drunken weekend benders. It didn't matter how many therapy sessions she had, or how many pills she swallowed: the massacre never left her mind. She'd tried so fucking hard to move past it all, to forget everything. At the cost of all that she'd built for herself in California... had it even been worth it.
  
  She reached over to her alarm clock, peering with a squint to see the hazy red numbers flash back at her. 3:02.
  
  "You're here, Jenny. You're not there. You're here," she told herself in a half whisper, trying to roll her shoulders for some semblance of relaxation. Her body felt tense, too tense, and every nerve seemed alive. This was how it went: terrible nightmare, remind herself she wasn't there, be unable to go to bed for the rest of the night. Sometimes it was made better with the addition of pills, but Jenny had been trying to quit it. The itch was there, always.
  
  It was easy to fall back on medication to make the pain go away. Her body ached at all times in the several places she'd been stabbed. Lanced across the shoulder, nestled adjacent to the joint; once to the stomach, just high enough to avoid any major organs, but enough to skim her diaphragm and the bottom of one lung. Her hand, the white scar still danced across her palm. Jennifer was never able to take a full breath after that, nor able to play any sports requiring her upper body. That one arm was always still funky, still hard to feel some days. After the surgery had been the worse, but her doctor hadn't cared enough to keep her from getting hooked on the shit. It didn't help that her mother had already had her on amphetamines in her teen years, avoiding the 'gut' she warned about. Stupid, horrible things from people who didn't give a shit about the kid they were fucking up.
  
  Losing Marcia had been part of the reason that she'd allowed herself to get addicted. It felt right, that way. She'd died for being complacent in an innocent's death, but were they not all kids?
  
  Ruth, most of all, Jenny felt the worst for. Had it been anyone else maybe she would have thought he was a monster. She didn't blame her. Didn't want to. Sometime after waking up from surgery, alone in her room, she'd thought about what it would be like if she'd been the one who killed all those people. Sometimes there were explanations for slaughter, sometimes there weren't. In Ruth's case, Jenny could see the anger, the hurt. If Sam had been the one killed... could she be capable of doing the same? Why hadn't anyone helped Ruth?
  
  The guilt of surviving was nearly as bad as the guilt of knowing that she had been cared for, idolized for being one of the survivors, and that it didn't matter what happened, she'd always have family to fall back on.
  
  It was easier to shove it all away, to pretend she didn't have that luxury. That's what the pills were for.
  
  "Alright, Jenny. Go to bed. Don't reach for this fucking pills." It was a command to herself, the words harsh on her lips. If she didn't force herself, nobody would. With a sigh she pulled herself up to get the window, taking an extra moment to stare out. There was a negligent breeze, but maybe it would help. At least a little. Shuffling back to bed she crawled on top off the sheets, pulling her knees to her chest and burrowing her face in her pillow.
  
  Staring into the blank nothing behind her eyes would be enough to send her to sleep, eventually.
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[BELIAL.]

SAM JOHNSON

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name: Samantha May Johnson
  
  Age: 19
  
  Occupation: Student, part-time at Video Paradise Rentals
  
  Role: Grad Class of 1989
  
  Faceclaim: Imogen Poots
  
  Relation: Related to survivor of the massacre of '79
  
  Native or Newbie: born and raised in Cobre Flats
  
  Lucky item: The classic rabbit's foot, attached to her car keys. She rubs it for good luck more times than she can count, figuring that she's got nothing but bad luck heading her way at any given time.
  
  Ideal Nightmare: Being in a bright white, hot room with no break from the heat. Covering from all angles, unavoidable, and unable to move. She cannot see, she cannot be seen. There is no dying, only a strange sense of undying.
  
  
  
• The less memorable younger sister of one Jennifer Johnson, Sam spent most of her life inclined to live in the shadows. Too young to play with her sister, or do much else aside from being chased out of any room or dragged around begrudgingly, most her childhood was spent alone. Neighbourhood friends were few and far inbetween, for at least anyone that would stick. As she aged she became more inclined to rebel against her mother's oppressive force, seen most spectacularly with Jenny. A feisty child as much as she was quiet, Sam enjoyed her time alone, surprisingly. She never yearned for attention.
  
  Cultivating more creative endeavours, Sam was a painter at a young age, fingers globbed with food-safe paint all over windows and the walls. White walls terrified her, making the young girl unsettled. Every surface had to be covered and painted on. It felt better that way.
  
  Being only 9 years old when the massacre of '79 happened, she remembered more of the time after than the night of. Dealing with hospital trips, the reporters that flocked to their home, and the amount of pitying stares that the family got made Sam a bit of a recluse. She hated the cameras, hated the way that her mother and father crumpled under the stress. While they financially were able to handle it all, it didn't stop the bank accounts from draining. No matter how many stocks, savings and investments the family had, hospital and therapy for Jenny was expensive. After the divorce and they split ways, Sam was kept with their mother in Cobre Flats. Thankful that their home had already been paid off prior to the incident, they were able to keep up, just barely with the other payments on the place.
  
  A lonely, big home with just Sam and her mother proved to separate the two further. They fought like cat and dog, her mother's declining state from losing just about everything being enough to send her over the edge. Where with Jenny she'd been obsessive-compulsive and controlling, with Sam she just gave up. Able to go out at all hours, do what she wanted— as long as she kept her grades in school— Sam was gone most of the time. She accumulated friends through middle-school and high-school that she'd lacked in her younger years. They were usually of the odd, weirder sort of people. Punk rock and challenging the status quo, Sam blended seamlessly in.
  
  Her best friend, prior to her change in attitude and beliefs, was catapulted in popularity by the time they reached high-school. They seemed separate, different by all means, but their relationship stayed strong. Sam liked the way people looked, thinking there was no way in hell they'd give each other the time of day. It proved fruitful, providing gossip and information where needed on both sides.
  
  Despite her inclination for strange and macabre things, the Killing Game was not on Sam's radar. She never took part, never wanted to, and could only slip in quietly to try and provide help and a shoulder to lean on for the poor suckers that were roped in. She'd only witnessed one ritual before, an unfortunate bystander, but at least the kid hadn't died.
  
  Leaving a bad feeling in her stomach, Robin's death only served to add more fuel to her paranoid flames.
  
  
  
  
• Coming from the kitchen, blood racing as her pulse roared in her ears, Sam took to flying out into the foyer, slamming against a wall as she sought to right herself. Half turning around, half expecting to see the killer right behind her, they were walking straight from the open doorway toward her. Walking.
  
  That son of a bitch.
  
  With only a split second to think, already in position to run, Sam took to the stairs two steps at a time. The killer increased their pace behind her, soon escalating their pursuit with a slashing motion as they came up behind her, the knife glancing dangerously close to her back. She bounded with the last bursts of speed she had. Sam couldn't even scream despite the adrenaline seemingly pressing on her lungs, using the energy to instead lock herself in the first room she could think of: the bathroom.
  
  Pressing herself to the door as she locked it behind her, the thunderous pounding of the killer vibrated her to the bone. Grunting in exertion, as her bones felt like lead, Sam peeled away enough to back up slowly, her hands shaking. The bathroom was small: there was a tub against the wall behind her, a sink and mirror on the wall next to her, and a narrow cabinet on the other wall. In a split second of consideration, Sam brought the cabinet down, hoping to barricade some of the door if the killer got in.
  
  After that, though?
  
  There was a small window above the tub, but this was the second floor: did she wanna risk trying to squeeze out and go flying onto the ground? The roof? And what if they got in, dragging her back to the ground before killing her right there?
  
  Biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, Sam was frozen once more as the door rumbled in front of her. After a moment there was silence, enough for her to hear herself breathe, before another great slam sounded from the other side. She jumped, backing up toward the tub. Grabbing onto the liner hooked on a rod that curled along the ceiling, she took a shaky step backward and into the tub.
  
  Another slam, the door shaking.
  
  She took another step in— it was out the window or fucking die.
  
  The door slammed a final time, this time the lock and a chunk of the wall where the latch was came off. It swung limply open, stopped by the cabinet that barred the path. There stood the killer, in full glory: leaving Sam to waver, her throat closing up. Able to shake herself out of it once more she turned quickly, heading for the window and fumbling to pull it open. The lock was flipped, and spending that extra second to unlock it was a waste. The killer merely ducked under the cabinet, closer by a few paces.
  
  Finally the window opened, Sam quickly sticking her head out to see the distance. There was the roof, thank god, and she took the chance given and dove out. Hitting the roof panes, her elbows and forearms scraped and pulled as she rolled toward the edge. Reaching out, trying to stop herself, she was sure that if she didn't stop now she'd roll off and onto the ground below, dashing her head onto the pavement. Coming to a crashing halt as her body went over the edge, her chest caving in as the air sucked out of her lungs, she held on for dear life as the gutter filled the space between her palm and fingers. Hanging on for dear life, the gutter trembled ever so slightly.
  
  Pulling herself up enough to see, the killer was posed inside, in front of the window. They peered out, tilting their head ever so slightly. Then they darted out.
  
  That just left Sam hanging over the edge; prey on a string.
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[idalie]

colt b. callaway

# survivor of '79

# nicolas cage

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[idalie]

heather "kitty" kitts

# grad class of '89

# ornella muti

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[aeneas.]

BOWEN GRAHAM

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name: Bowen Chesney Graham.
  
  Age: 19 years old.
  
  Occupation: Student, part-timer at Video Paradise Rentals.
  
  Role: Grad Class of 1989.
  
  Faceclaim: Jensen Ackles.
  
  Native or Newbie: The Grahams have been around since Cobre Flats' founding but after a nasty argument between Bowen's pops and papster before his birth, his dad had moved himself and his barefoot pregnant wife to Nevada. They returned by the time he was 10 to arrange his papster's burial and inherit the Graham home.
  
  Lucky item: A belt buckle made from a horseshoe of the horse that brought the Grahams to Cobre Flats—or at least that's what he's been told. He had got it from the will and began wearing it nearly every day since he was finally old enough for it not to look like a wrestling belt around his hips. He polishes it the night before any big event to bring him good luck, it hasn't failed him yet.
  
  Ideal Nightmare: A game night of Operation with Bowen as the live patient. Bound to the tin table and forced to watch himself be picked apart till his light-up nose blinks red. He's dissected like the patient on the box with the rumble of giggles playing in the background. Oddly enough, it isn't the botched surgery that wakes him up in a startle, it's the gargantuan eyes that were on him while being poked and prodded. Watching him.
  
  
  
• Never searched for trouble but since the start of his senior year, trouble almost actively sought for young Bowen Graham like a dog would a nice juicy steak. He was a good kid to an extent, a couple of toss-ups and falls from grace here and there but when at the mercy of the many lectures from his ever-so-forgiving principal, it was what he was often told. You're a good kid, Bowen. I know you didn't mean to make that hole in the locker room, you're a good kid. Pity came at his disposal in the hopes he'd one day wake up from his rut and return to the golden boy he once was.
  
  He was the star quarterback before an indefinite suspension that turned out to last for the rest of the season. It's what you get for giving that kid a shiner that big—what has gotten into you son? He didn't mean to, Coach Chambers always knew he didn't mean to. Bowen was a gentle giant until he saw red. A loose canon is what students loitering in the halls liked to throw around when he made his walks of shame. To them, his mighty fall was a long time coming. The Grahams were what every family dreamt of being. All-American, white picket fences, and a great big property. Bowen was the firstborn of the firstborn, a legacy of the great Graham clan. They were infamous—local celebrities on their high horses. Everyone in town knew about the Western socialites and the parties they loved to throw, how their blood shared the origins of the town's founding fathers. It felt fitting for him to be the family fuck-up.
  
  Acts of rebellion tasted intentional from the disappointed tastebuds of his parents. They had wound up their poor little Bowen too tight and now he was broken; a free-roaming doll no longer willing to play their games. Curfews were ignored, parties were attended, and intoxicated nights fueled by teenage stupidity ensued.
  
  Years of whiplash; riding through a violent current while being pulled in different directions of what they could and could not do can do shit to a kid. Since the age of 10, Cobre Flats has been all Bowen ever really knew. The cheers on the field, front photos on the school paper, the crushing weight of expectations, the backhands of pops, and the looks of charity from ma were all he really knew. It had been easy for him to find his place in an already small puzzle—cruising with the popular crowd in his Cutlass for a victory chow-down while he smiled pretty and made corny jokes. The kind of guy who'd earn charmed smiles from your mother and the stern brow of your father if he came to your doorstep to pick you up for homecoming. Foolish and unaware.
  
  Ghost stories of the massacre of '79 were nothing but spooky tales told at parties to make him flinch. He had been fast asleep in his dinosaur-themed room back in Nevada when tragedy struck. Never truly feeling the rest of the town's dread when the event was made mentioned, it made sense that the Killing game was seen as nothing but a dumb dare in Bowen's pretty (yet terribly stupid) eyes. Nothing horrific happened when he did it and no major injuries occurred to those he saw after. It was all fun and games, just some harmless jabs at the new blood.
  
  Until Robin Chambers turned up dead of course.
  
  Now, all Bowen wanted to do was keep his head down till college. Become a park ranger or rancher like his pops and never step foot in Cobre Flats till Thanksgiving.
  
  
  
• — coming soon !
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[aeneas.]

officer harrey kamdar.

SURVIVOR OF '79.

rahul kohli.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Lizy]

ethan
butler

BASICS

Full Name: Ethan Gregory Butler
Age: 18
Occupation: Student, part time at La
Fortuna Theatre
Role Grad class of 1989
Face Claim: Jason Segel
Relation: Cousin of Craig O'Malley
Native or Newbie: Native
Lucky Item: His drumsticks, they tend to
be found in his backpack or back pocket.
Ideal Nightmare: His parents sitting down
with him at their kitchen table,
repeatedly asking him what he wants to do
with his life. Then, after he can't answer,
the house starts burning down around them.

HEART OF GOLD

SYOPSIS

Ethan was born in Cobre Flats to an ordinary upper middle class family. He is the only child of Brett Butler and Margaret Butler (née O'Malley), Brett is a doctor and Margaret is a receptionist. An average middle class family, they raised their son in the Oak Ridge Estates. Ethan had a happy childhood, both of his parents cared greatly about him- still do in fact. From an early age it was clear Ethan wasn't the shiniest pebble in the pond, he was never quite as intelligent as his peers, often falling a little short in school. But, he had great role models when it came to kindness and favored emotional intelligence. so, he became quite popular with his peers from a very young age. He never looked down upon or bullied anyone, being sure to say friendly to everyone he came across.
Ethan didn't actually know his cousin, Craig O'Malley too well. They'd only seen each other on the odd holiday or family get together, and Craig didn't have too much in hanging out with his younger cousin. He just remember his parents being really frightened after Craig was killed in the summer of '79. Hell, it scared him as well to know that After that, his parents held their son even closer, valuing every second with him.
Through high school, he realized that it was possible he got a little too comfortable in the safety of his parents nest. He didn't have any lofty aspirations and goals like his peers did- he was content with where he was. He made it onto the football team, with many of his jock friends, as a cornerback. While he enjoys the camaraderie of it all, he doesn't truly love the sport, really just doing it to be around his friends and maintain popularity. The one thing he really loves he discovers the summer after his freshman year, when his parents bought him a drum kit as a birthday present. He loved music and that summer he learned how to drum decently well. If not in class, at practice, or hanging out with friends- you'll find him in the garage, drumming. He'd love to do it professionally, but doesn't think he's good enough yet. People know that he drums (he carries those drumsticks everywhere), but he keeps quiet about how passionate he feels about it- thinking that someone would make fun of him and confirm his belief that he's not talented enough to actually do something in music in the future. Sometimes he feels like a disappointment. He doesn't have good enough grades, nor is he impressive enough with any skill to get into a good college- so he's decided to stay in Cobre Flats at least another year and attend junior college there. His parents are very supportive but sometimes Ethan swears he can catch glimpse of disappointment in their eyes about their son's seemingly dull future, secretly hoping he'd amount to something more. Still, he's trying to approach graduation with his usual carefree friendly spirit, always seen with a bright smile on his face, ready to crack a joke.
Ethan has always kind of just avoided the Killing Game. Yeah, he'd had friends that had participated in it and who often asked if he'd join in on the "fun" ritual, but the concept of hazing left a bad taste in his mouth. So, he'd always find a way to steal clear of participating entirely. The recent death of Robin has spooked him a bit- just thinking about it makes him really nervous.

SAMPLE

Ethan woke up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. He felt as though his heart was about to explode. Turning his head, he checked the clock on his bedside table. 2:18 AM. Fantastic. Looking up at the white ceiling of his room, he took a few breaths to try and calm himself down. What are you going to do with your life, Ethan? Those words lingered in his ear. The words his parents spoke in his nightmare were like being shot repeatedly. He didn't know what he was going to do. All he knew was he was letting people down. His parents loved him. They cared for him, supported him, and now all they were left with was a son with no prospects. What ARE you going to do with your life, Ethan?
He sighed and sat up. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he put his head in his hands and rubbed his eyes, hard enough that he saw colors and light. That distracted him from his thought momentarily, mildly entertained by the false light show in his mind. As he raised his head though, the nightmare came flooding back. He stood up and mindlessly paced his room a few times. He went over to his side table and went to take a sip of water from the novelty football cup at the corner of the table. Sipping through a straw, he got a few drops of water, then discovered the cup was empty. He continued to attempt to take a sip a few times, moving the straw around. Still, nothing.
He took the cup and creeped over to the door, opening it quietly. He tiptoed out of his room, not wanting to disrupt his parents who were down the hall, and went downstairs. Now in the kitchen, he turned on a light and squinted for a moment, adjusting. Going over to the fridge, he refilled his water bottle and took a few sips. Ethan spotted his drumsticks on the kitchen table and sat down, picking them up and very quietly tapping on the wooden surface of the table. He looked around at the empty chairs and then suddenly the memory of the nightmare returned yet again. This is where it had happened. What are you going to do with your life Ethan? In an attempt to push the thought away he got ups and moved over to the kitchen counter, siting on top of it and leaning his head against a cupboard. Fuck. What was he going to do with his life?

© pasta

 

[Lizy]

Melanie
Turner

BASICS

Full Name: Melanie Turner
Age: 29
Occupation: Detective for the Cobre Flats PD
Role: The Authority
Face Claim: Gina Torres
Relation: N/A
Native or Newbie: Newbie
Lucky Item: A pocket knife, given to her as a birthday gift by her late partner- Detective Draycott.
Ideal Nightmare: (CW- gun violence) Watching her late partner be shot over and over again while she is completely frozen, unable to move.

TOUGH AS NAILS

SYOPSIS

Melanie grew up in a town not too far from Cobre Flats, no stranger to small town suburban life. Her family was solidly lower class, residing in a shitty apartment all of Melanie's early years. Her parents, Rachel and Paul Turner, did their best but were overwhelmed taking care of two children. Melanie often took care of her sister, who was four years her younger, and was forced to grow up quickly. Her parents were working constantly. It's not that Melanie didn't see the hard work and effort put into that, she certainly did, but growing up without any real emotional support took a toll on her. She always felt like she needed to be tough. She needed to be the shoulder her sister could cry on. Someone dependable and resourceful enough to provide security.
She was always striving to provide a better life for herself. And her sister too really, but she'd seen how intelligent her sister was and knew she needed no help securing a decent future. In high school, she was smart and worked hard- was on the school's women's soccer team as well, and was determined to find a secure career that would satisfy her. One day, the school had a career fair and Melanie was drawn in by the police department's booth. She wanted to help people, provide safety, and make a difference in her town. The second she graduated she went to the police academy and hasn't looked back since.
(CW- Gun violence)
Quickly, she secured a spot as an officer in her hometown, and within a few years demonstrated herself to be reliable, intelligent, and hardworking, which got her promoted into becoming a detective. She was paired up with Detective Draycott, who had only been a detective for two years. Melanie wasn't much of a people person, more of a stoic and unapproachable personality, but surprisingly the two hit it off and worked really well together. She became close friends with Detective Draycott over the time they worked together. Unfortunately, about four years into their partnership disaster struck. The two detectives were on the field checking out crime scene- a simple robbery at a retail store. Suddenly, shots were fired. She has blocked the details of the event out of her mind, but what she remembers clearly is the aftermath. Detective Dreycott's body, motionless on the ground with two bullets through his chest. That image has been ingrained into Melanie's mind for the last three months.
After that, she took a month's leave so she could come back with a clear head. But she was never really the same after that night. She was even more closely guarded than usual, impossible to talk to. She was not working well with others, only doing the bare minimum interactions at work. She did not want to get closer to her longtime co workers, friends really, just to see them share Draycott's fate. She simply couldn't bare it. Her captain was informed of a detective position opening in the Cobre Flats police department, and after speaking with Melanie, recommended she be transferred there. She got a fresh start, and she now refuses to get close with the people she works with, coming off as cold and unapproachable. She's been in Cobre Flats for a little less than a month now. She was told about the killing game, she thought it was just idiotic teenagers participating in reckless activities. Robin's death was deemed to be an accident but she's not so sure, something about it just doesn't sit right with her.

SAMPLE

Melanie Turner was trapped in hell. The hell in question? Dr. Mary Watson's psychology practice. She had entered the building a few minutes early and the receptionist told her to go wait in the therapist's office, Dr. Mary was out using the restroom but she'd be there in a moment. Melanie took a seat on the light grey couch and grimaced at it's woolen texture. Just great. She was going to be forced to talk about her partner being murdered in front of her on an uncomfortable couch for a whole hour.
Upon hearing the door creak open Melanie sat up straight, stiff as a board. She eyed Dr. Mary as she entered. The psychologist smiled at her as she took her seat at the desk in the back of the room. "How are you doing, Melanie?" Dr. Mary asked.
Melanie scoffed at the question. "Look, you know I don't want to be here. You probably don't want to be here. This is PD mandated therapy. Let's not pretend we're going to do anything life altering in this room," She looked the therapist dead in the eyes, as if ready for combat.
To her surprise, Dr. Mary's kind demeanor didn't falter. "I know you've been through a lot. Healing doesn't come in an hour," the woman said softly, "You'll probably come out of this session angry. You'll feel like it wasn't worth it. But maybe after a few sessions that'll change."
Melanie's stare wavered a bit, the fire in her eyes fizzing out. "Look, I... I'm just not ready to talk about it all. I can barely stand to think about it. I just have to go to four of these sessions to get back out in the field, then I'll be on my way. Therapy just isn't for me."
"Look, Melanie, I've heard a lot of people say the same thing. And maybe it's not your thing. I'm here for you either way. We can use this time any way you want. Can even sit in silence if that makes you more comfortable," the therapist said.
That was an unexpected response. No coaxing, no forced talking through her worst nightmares. A minute of silence passed. "I think I'd like that."

© pasta

 

[Jagson]

Can't do coding

Face claim Aaron Ashmore

Shane Mallory

Age 26
Role civilian

Occupation Reporter/ photographer

Relationship: Has no real relationship with any of the victims

Newbie He moved into Cobre Flats two years ago

Lucky Charm: his canon EOS 650 Camera

Worst nightmare: being in an elevator and falling slowly into an endless void

Samples TBC

 

[temporarybliss]

TATE MAGNOLIA ASTIN

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name: Tate Magnolia Astin
  
  Age: Seventeen
  
  Occupation: Student
  
  Role: Grad Class of 1989
  
  Faceclaim: Sarah Michelle Gellar
  
  Relation: Rebecca Astin's little sister
  
  Native or Newbie: Native
  
  Lucky item: Amethyst necklace as it promotes peace
  
  Ideal Nightmare: her sister coming back as a zombie and torturing her once more or spiders crawling all over and in her
  
  
  
• 
  Born and raised in Cobre Flats, Tate Astin was expected to be a golden child like her older sister. Well almost like her sister, minus the mean streak, her parents hoped so anyway. While usually younger children are the favorites and spoiled rotten, that spot had already gone to Rebecca, so Tate felt a twinge of jealousy for her older sister, especially considering how she was treated.
  
  Before Rebecca’s death, she had no problem teasing and taunting her little sister, even if she was ten years younger. To most it seemed pitiful, but to Rebecca who thought of Tate as a little brat that was stealing their parents’ attention, it was required.
  After the killing in 1979, Tate was a bit unsure how to proceed in life now that she didn’t have a dark energy holding her down. It wasn’t that she was happy that Rebecca was gone, but she surely wasn’t heartbroken either. Her parents on the other hand mourned the oldest Astin daughter profusely, even if she treated them badly she was still their little girl.
  
  Even as a kid, Tate found this strange. Shouldn’t they be happy not to be abused by Rebecca? Now they could be a real happy family. At least, that’s what Tate had hoped. Instead though, she faces enormous amounts of pressure to get good grades and succeed in anything she tries. Whether that’s winning homecoming queen or the karate lessons she’s secretly taken up.
  
  Tate is very good at masking her true feelings, especially when it comes to her sister. The only person who truly knows how she feels is her therapist, but their relationship is far from normal or appropriate. After coming onto him, Tate and the older man hooked up, which Tate has held over his head ever since. Maybe there is a bit of Rebecca in her yet…
  
  Right now her vision is set on getting the hell out of Cobre Flats and away to college in California. She’s already been accepted as a criminal science major and is just waiting until graduation. As for the killing game, she did it earlier in the year and nothing bad happened, so why should she be worried? It’s just a stupid myth.
  
  
  
  
• 
  “How are you doing?” The older man asked, crossing one leg over the other. He didn’t even bother looking at her, instead his eyes were on a pen and paper in his lap. Tate wasn’t sure why he even had such a thing when the tape recorder was going anyway. Her arms were crossed over her chest, a very off putting gesture according to him. Maybe she wanted people to perceive her that way. Maybe she wanted to have people off her back for once in her life. Maybe-
  
  “Miss Astin?” His voice droned again, finally getting Tate to look at him rather than out the window. She’d thought about jumping, however, considering she had to walk three flights of stairs to get to the office, it probably wasn’t the best idea… Not today anyway.
  
  With a deep breath, she raised a brow and repeated the therapist’s question back to him, “How am I doing?” She scoffed and shook her head. “It’s been ten years, that’s how I’m doing.” Tate replied harshly, looking away again.
  
  Ten years. The girl thought, a pathetic laugh falling from her lips. Ten years of comparisons. Ten years of pity. Ten years of parents crying and mourning. It was all so exhausting, especially considering no one had even liked her older sister! Rebecca was nothing more than a selfish bitch, even as a kid Tate put that together. Hell, her parents were practically scared of her and her wrath which meant they’d do just about anything to satisfy her desires. New shoes, new dress, new car; everything Rebecca wanted, she got.
  
  “What do you want me to say?” She finally spoke again, “That I miss her?” She laughed dryly, “Well, I’m not supposed to lie, right?” Tate looked directly into his newly shocked eyes. Looking at the clock, the blonde girl groaned at how long they had left, pushing her hair back only for it to fall right back into place.
  
  “If I leave now are you going to tell my parents?” She asked suddenly, beginning to stand up. “Considering you’re a minor, I would have to let them know, yes.” Tate contemplated her choices for a moment before sighing, “Fine.” She agreed to stay, “But can I use the restroom first?”
  
  The older man nodded and led her to the door, opening it for her as she walked in, only to scream. “Oh my God, ew!” Tate gasped, “You are not coming in the bathroom with me you pervert!” She yelled, watching the therapist try to shush her, “That’s not- I mean, I wasn’t-” Tate then stopped, looking up at him and crossing her arms once more, “If you tell my parents, I tell my parents. Got it?” And with those final words, Tate walked out.
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[honeycoves]

MJ ADDISON

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name: Margaret June Addison. At school she's always gone by MJ, trading in the family nickname Peggy for one for a handful more cool points when she started going to Cobre Flats High School. She's never been addressed by Peggy or Margaret on school grounds, except by her parents and first day role call in a new homeroom every year.
  
  Age: Eighteen.
  
  Occupation: Student, babysitter, and tutor.
  
  Role: Grad class of 1989, and the girl next door.
  
  Faceclaim: Liv Tyler
  
  Relation: Robin's girlfriend... Er— former girlfriend.
  
  Native or Newbie: Somewhere in between. She moved to Cobre Flats to start high school and has lived here ever since.
  
  Lucky item: It used to be her necklace, a dainty pendant with a small cross on it all in classic yellow-gold. A gift from her grandmother, that she found herself touching to her lips and holding in her mouth in times of anxiety. Now, it might be argued that it's Robin's class ring: a weathered looking silver, bulky, with their high school's name and a large gemstone in the center of it in one of the school's primary colors.
  
  Ideal Nightmare: MJ's always found herself to be scared of the story of the green ribbon, though with Robin's passing it's only seemed to intensify. Before, she used to dream that she was the woman with the green ribbon, who lived her life with a green velvet ribbon tied around her neck at all times. And then, in some malicious act of curiosity or cruelty, someone would untie the ribbon and her head would fall off. Though, in the last week it's become that she's with Robin and when he removes the green ribbon from her neck, his head falls off and his hands reach around her neck to strangle her. Without fail, she will awake gasping for hair, drenched in an icy sweat.
  
  
  
• Margaret June Addison was the only daughter and youngest child born to two secondary education teachers: Stanley and Faye Addison in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Despite giving her a full name— Margaret— Stanley, Faye, and their two sons Laurence and Darren quickly took to calling her Peggy more than Margaret or other diminutions of it. Being the only girl and the baby of the family, Peggy(Margaret) was doted on by her two parents. Though, being the object of her parents' affections did not make Peggy spoiled. In fact, she was raised to be and came to behave like the ideal daughter that all their friends were envious of. She was raised to love God, the church, and the bible, and was taught to be a good girl who was careful and smart. And, just as she was raised and taught to be, she was. Even as a small child, she was always a kind girl and went out of her way to help others, especially her parents and family. She took on the household duties she was expected to, obeyed every order and ask from her mother and father, and never challenged the authority of others. She was an obedient girl, with a heart of gold, and her parents loved her dearly and might be caught favoring her over her brothers.
  
  Her childhood was a nice one. She took on the traditional role of a girl in her house, learning to cook and clean at a young age, and as the daughter of two teachers Peggy was taught rigorously and well. She was expected to maintain straight As throughout her entire life and she did, even when her life was upended when the family moved to Cobre Flats not long after Darren's high school graduation and right before she entered high school. While she wasn't exactly happy about the abrupt change, she still maintained her straight As and in a small act of rebellion, ditched her family nickname of Peggy, which she had been known as for the last thirteen years, for the much cooler and modern "MJ". She was still their perfect little angel, despite her insistence that they refer to her as MJ when she happened to obtain one of them as a teacher or when she passed one of them in the halls since they were both employed at CFHS. However, at least her father's view of her changed quickly when she joined the cheerleading squad her junior year and a certain someone came into her life: Robin Chambers.
  
  She fell in love with him almost immediately, being assigned to decorate his locker and bring him treats on game day(always being sure to bake and bring him his favorite snickerdoodle cookies for every Friday night game) and she even began to tutor him and aid him in his homework. Really, despite the whispers of him being a meathead football player, he was very smart with half-decent grades. He was just a tortured soul after having lived a tough life. He had lost his older brother, his best friend, a handful of years before she met him in a horrible slaying. A bleeding heart, MJ was extremely empathetic towards him and his story, and unable to resist the draw of his dark mystique, fell for him quick and hard.
  
  MJ and Robin were an instant classic, the rich bad boy and the good girl-next-door like you saw in most teen movies. While she maintained her angelic reputation in school and at home(for the most part, if you disregarded the fact that her father had a strong distaste for Robin and "his kind" and an inkling suspicion that his baby girl was no longer his perfect daughter), keeping up good grades, attending church, babysitting as usual, she began to develop a small rebellious streak. She would sneak out at night to go meet up with Robin and his friends, she was suddenly to busy for bible study and could maybe be found out in the woods instead with a handful of football players and other cheerleaders. Despite this rebellious streak, though, she still remained relatively "intact", if you would, having never tried more than a sip or two of alcohol and her chastity remaining unbroken at a little bit of lament from Robin.
  
  Deeply in love, MJ spent her time planning her future for her and her boyfriend. They'd go to college together: somewhere with a good football program, since Robin was a stud runningback, like Miami or Nebraska, and he'd get his degree in exercise science and land a national championship that would catapult him to the NFL and she would get a teaching degree like her parents(though she was more partial to elementary education than secondary). They'd get married after or during college, and once Robin was in the NFL they'd start a family. She'd be his personal cheerleader for the rest of her life. And, for a while, it looked like her day dreams were starting to come to fruition. They each had acceptance letters in hand for Nebraska, Miami, Michigan, Notre Dame, and a handful of other big schools. They were going to make it, and it became a matter of a last minute signing needed from Robin to decide where the wind would take them.
  
  No less than a week after Robin had decided on Miami, the accident happened. Robin's accident. She had been hanging out with her oldest brother, Lauri, when his radio interrupted them. Dispatch had to let all officers in the area know of a wreck in the area and possibly injured passenger and needed someone to respond immediately and they described Robin's car. Terrified, she insisted that Lauri let her go with her, and despite his initial refusal he bent to her will. She had seen his destroyed Grand National, steam floating off the engine. She had seen his body, in his Copperheads letterman jacket, missing it's head. Her world went silent, she couldn't hear her own scream. Her world was destroyed.
  
  In the week that followed, she caught wind of the Killing Game rumors. She knew it was possible, he had talked about playing it before with his football buddies. Apparently her pleads had fallen on deaf ears. She had played the Killing Game once herself, mostly against her will. When she joined the cheerleading team, it became apparent that she had never been initiated into Cobre Flats and needed to repair that debt before she could join. The girls chanted something that she couldn't quite hear while she was held underwater, flailing in just her bra and panties, unable to gasp for air. They had nearly drowned her, dark spots dancing across her vision and her movements becoming more feeble before she was finally pulled up onto the pool deck and turned on her side to spit out the water that she had inhaled and swallowed in her panicked frenzy to breathe. They had said it was important for their sisterhood that they all play the Killing Game at some point. She hated it, and now she hated it even more knowing she lost her dear Robin to it.
  
  After his death, life has felt bleak and empty to MJ. She hasn't followed up with Miami about her acceptance to their university and was a walking husk of a young woman in the week leading up to graduation. She still cries all the time and seems to be surrounded by a hollow haze. She doesn't know what to do with herself. Her parents and family are extremely concerned about her health, but they're hoping that a nice summer at home before she goes away to college is what she needs to recover and get back on her feet.
  
  
  
  
• MJ's eyes felt like sandpaper. They were swollen and red, and after days of crying they were heavy like boulders, unable to open her eyelids all the way. The skin around them and the skin of her cheeks felt tight, they were red and blotchy in their appearance, and speckled with small red dots— broken blood vessels from sobbing too hard. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically, finding herself unable to sleep without crying herself to it and waking up frequently to bone-chilling nightmares. She looked worse for wear and, though she wouldn't consider herself to be a vain person, she thought she'd rather die than let anyone from her high school see her like this. Their looks of pity would be enough torture. For them to think to themselves about how disorderly she appeared in the wake of it all, for them to think about how weak she was, would just add insult to the injury of her sorrows. After nearly landing herself in the hospital for dehydration, having cried out what seemed like every ounce of liquid out of her body, Daddy suggested to Mama that she go to therapy. So, in therapy she was.
  
  She had shaken Mr. Dawson's hand outside the door with Daddy's firm hand on her shoulder. The men exchanged a few words about the visit and Margaret's condition that the typically attentive girl tuned out. Now, she sat on Mr. Dawsons cherry-brown leather couch, his soulful brown eyes fixed on her puffy, scratchy, gray ones. "How are you doing?" His voice was low and gentle. Despite having already exchanged their niceties in her father's presence outside just moments ago, she didn't miss a beat in responding to this one, like she would at the grocer picking up milk. "I'm well, how are you doing?" The words had fallen out of her mouth before she could really reflect on the purpose of her visit, and she felt a little silly when Mr. Dawson readjusted his glasses and readdressed her.
  
  "I am well." Short pause. "Miss Addison, I want to make sure you understand that you can trust me. My office is a safe space for you and for anyone who comes here. What you tell me will be completely confidential, and I will not judge you for what you say. You can be honest here, and I recommend that you are honest, otherwise we won't make much promise." He leaned back in his large chair, pulling his pen close to the small pad of paper that he held in his large left hand. "So. Peggy—" Daddy had called her Peggy when he introduced her to Mr. Dawson, despite the name sounding foreign coming from anyone outside her household. "—how are you doing?"
  
  Despite the heat that was threatening her with summer's arrival, she pulled the sleeves of her long sleeve sweater over her hands and balled their cuffs in her fists, hiding her pale skin from the sticky air that was not being cooled by the whirring box fan in the corner of the office. How was she doing? She didn't really have a good answer to it. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to be doing. Her boyfriend had died in one of the most horrific tragedies she could have ever imagined. She peered shyly across the coffee table at Mr. Dawson, chewing carefully on the inside of her cheek. It was a terrible habit, and she was well aware of it, especially when her mother constantly chirped at her about it, but it was one of very few commands from her parents she couldn't obey. "Are you sure you won't tell anyone?" She asked quietly, breaking her silent contemplation. Mr. Dawson nodded gravely. "Like– Like you won't tell my parents? Or if I say something about me or my brother that's against the rules, you won't get us— me— in trouble?" He gave her a sober shake of her head, reassuring her once again that what she said remained between them. MJ chewed carefully on her cheek again, surveying the man that sat across her with a great deal of prudence. She noticed the way the sleeves of his collared shirt were rolled up partly, and the way he sat with half-crossed legs with an ankle resting on his knee so she could see the beige socks that matched the green hued tan in the woven fabric of his tweed pants. The silence between them was thick, in spite of the noisy little office where she could hear the chatter of children on the street, the drone of the fan, and the ticking of a large clock upon his wall. She sighed tremendously, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
  
  "I'm not doing very well, I suppose." Her gaze trailed to the floor. She felt uncomfortable discussing this. She couldn't even get the words out to Daddy and Mama. At the thought alone of conjuring the words to explain to Mr. Dawson why she was here, she felt the tears, hot and large, prick at her tired eyes. Her large, pouty, bottom lip quivered. Her chin crinkled. Pins and needles pricked like fire at her chest, arms, and feet. Her throat burned as she resisted the urge, the need to cry. Her voice felt tight and strained, just like her eyes had and did. "I know you know what happened. The whole town knows. You're probably seeing half of the school and his family." She blinked hard. "But– But I saw him. I know I wasn't supposed to but my brother Lauri got the call and I made him take me with him." Each word came faster than the last. Her voice caught and she choked back tears. "And I saw him. I saw his body. There was no– there was– his head was gone." She heaved out a heavy sob, dropping her head into hands, her vision too blurred by her tears to see anything anyways. She saw the man she loved, gruesomely killed in one of the worst accidents in Cobre Flats, with her own two eyes.
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[honeycoves]

LAURENCE ADDISON

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name: Laurence Douglas Addison. Occasionally nicknamed Lauri or Laur, but Laurence will do just fine. Or Officer Addison, if you're nasty.
  
  Age: Twenty-six.
  
  Occupation: Police officer for the Cobre Flats PD. He's been a beat cop for most of his career, which is relatively short, but in a sudden moment of need he's stepped into the position of detective and is a rookie all over again.
  
  Role: The authority.
  
  Faceclaim: Aaron Taylor-Johnson
  
  Relation: Older brother of Robin Chambers's girlfriend(MJ Addison).
  
  Native or Newbie: Newbie-ish. He moved to Cobre Flats a couple of years ago, not long after his parents settled there, after getting an offer to join the CFPD.
  
  Lucky item: A brass engraved lighter with a cowboy motif and his nickname, "Lauri" engraved in a small section on the front. One side of it is also engraved, saying in small script, "Congratulations! Love, mom and dad." He keeps it in his pocket and flips it over in his hand when he's thinking.
  
  Ideal Nightmare: Getting the call to respond to a crime scene and arriving to find his parents and little siblings, murdered brutally.
  
  
  
• Despite being the oldest child of his family— which typically means setting the standard for what's considered "normal" for children's behavior— Laurence has been a little bit of a black sheep. His parents, Faye and Stanley Addison were both teachers, and his younger siblings Darren and Peggy were both intellectuals like them. Laurence... Well. He was not. It's not like Laurence was ever stupid. He's got great critical thinking and pattern recognition skills. But school had never really been his thing. Math, science, history, English. None of them ever really stood out to him, or really ever stuck in his brain. They were terribly boring, so he never paid attention or really tried. He wasn't a stellar student, much to his parents' disappointment.
  
  Laurence spent his entire childhood in Kenosha, Wisconsin, and had no real claim to fame there. He was on the football team of his high school, but only as a second string kicker. He didn't really participate in many clubs or activities. He only had a small handful of friends, most of which would've been considered freaks or losers, including him. He was always quiet and timid, and honestly a bit awkward which lent to his trouble making friends. His parents had a strong distaste for his sense of music and choice of friends and lack of scholastic effort, and he had a strong distaste for their schools and their church and their curfews. When he began bleaching and perming his hair and smoking, their relationship had been more strained than ever, and as soon as Lauri turned eighteen and graduated, he moved out of the house. However, after taking a gap year, he obliged their wishes for him to attempt the college route and went to University of Wisconsin-Parkside, a relatively new but close by university, originally studying to become a teacher like his parents wanted and expected of him, despite his slightly-below-average grades.
  
  He completed three years of college, doing a little bit of shifting around between his original major of education, to communication, to settling in on an associate's degree in social work. It came as a shock to most, since Lauri helping others wasn't necessarily something that was on their radar(besides his pre-determined path of becoming a teacher), but once he had finished the degree it made total sense. Now as an adult, Laurence was still his shy and awkward self, but outside of his parents' grasp he was able to blossom and grow some. He was sweet, kind, and didn't feel the need to rebel anymore— although, he still did hold a penchant for the occasional mischief and rock and roll music, and was still frequently bleaching and perming his hair. While he was still introverted, he not only stood up for himself but for others, and found himself wanting to protect people who were losers in school much like himself. He's much more aware of the world than his sister is, and can be much more serious than her. But, he's still a good guy at his core.
  
  After completing his associate's degree at the age of twenty-two, he decided to look into his career options, since working at the local corner store wasn't an option anymore now that he had a handful of small student loans to payoff and parents who still wouldn't stop breathing down his neck. So, he found himself another avenue: the police academy. As soon as he began his training, he knew he had finally found his place in life. He loved the academy, and he loved being a cop. After graduating, he began working as a beat cop for a small precinct on the outskirts of Kenosha, only to follow his parents to Cobre Flats after getting a job offer there two years ago. With the ten year anniversary of the slayings of the class of 1979, the Cobre Flats Police Department was looking for someone to promote to detective, and while most of Laurence's work has been patrol, because he had done good work(and was the first officer to respond to Robin Chambers's accident) he was promoted to detective. This promotion is extremely recent(like a week or so recent) and now he feels like a rookie all over again.
  
  Since Laurence did not live in Cobre Flats at the time of the slayings, he didn't know any of the victims of the '79 slayings. However, their deaths had made national news and he had read about them in the paper and saw them on the news when it first happened. Since moving to Cobre Flats, he's heard the whispers about the Killing Game and it's potential involvement in the killings, which has definitely raised a concerned eyebrow from him. Since hearing about the Killing Game, he's been quietly reading over the '79 case file. If he's honest, he's not sure they identified the correct second killer, but currently wouldn't be able to tell you who he believes that second killer would be. With Robin's death, a lot of his focus has been on comforting his sister, and while it was ruled an accident by other officers before his promotion, he can't help but feel something is off about the whole thing. But who's going to listen to some kid who's been a detective for a whole week over seasoned veterans who made the call?
  
  
  
  
• Laurence's blue eyes fluttered open, only to be squeezed closed again. White hot pain coursed through his left leg, like a fire had been started on his thigh and the flames were licking out towards his hips and shooting down towards his ankle. His head throbbed, the rushing of his blood and the ringing of his ears obscured his ability to hear the world around him. He felt cold, though sweat drenched his body, his curly hair to stick to his forehead and goosebumps to run across his body. He braved the bright overhead lights of his parents' home and opened his eyes once more.
  
  Getting a hold of his bearings despite the spinning room, he found himself lying on the hardwood floor, conveniently placed between the large staircase that would lead him up to his little siblings' rooms and the front door of the home. His heartrate began to surge. He had been hoping that it was just a terrible, terrible nightmare. But it was something much worse: a grim reality. He made a move to stand up, but the attempt to move only intensified the pain in his leg. "Agh!" He groaned out in pain, his leg giving out before he had even really begun, causing his hands to slip and him to unceremoniously fall back onto his elbows with a soft thud. Instinctively, his hand went to the thigh that had practically screamed out, preventing his attempt. The pressure of his own touch made him cringe, his fingers finding the hole in the navy pants of his uniform and the gouge in his leg, sticky with his own blood. Fuck! He titled his head back and grit his teeth, determined to do something. Anything. Knowing standing up wasn't an option, he used his upper body to drag himself backwards. Despite only living at the home for two years, he knew the layout well enough to know that he'd find the wall that separated the entrance and living rooms from the kitchen, and once the back of his head made contact with it he pulled himself up into a sitting position.
  
  Dark spots dancing in the corners of his vision, he saw two options: go out the front door or try to climb his way up the stairs. He could vaguely remember getting stabbed in the leg at the top of the stairway before he got pushed down. The knife that had impaled his thigh was gone, and so was the attacker that had placed in there. His attacker could be anywhere now. He had no way of knowing of where they were, or his siblings. He already knew his parents had been slain and left mangled on the kitchen floor just behind his back somewhere. Although he wasn't religious, he found himself praying that Peggy and Darren made it out unscathed, or at least alive. My radio! Lauri thought, thinking to his squadron car where he had his police radio. He should call for help. He needed to call for help. If he got help, maybe Peggy and Darren could be helped. Maybe Faye and Stanley weren't as far gone as he thought and they could be saved.
  
  Laurence clenched his jaw, deciding on his fate and to ignore the pain in his leg. He had one job now, to get to his car. Using the wall that was supporting his back to support himself to stand. His knees wobbled and buckled, his legs refusing to work between the pain and the lack of blood. His head spun faster than it had ever before. But he was determined. He needed to get out. He took shaky, lumbering steps to the door, each one heavier and more difficult than the last, his hand supporting as much weight as it could along the wall. He pushed off as he approached the door, his legs barely functioning as he attempted to move to the doorway. He was only about a hundred yards away from saving everyone. A high pitched scream had cut through the air and he could hear something like glass break above him. "Peggy!" He shouted. She was still alive and here in the house. She was being attacked. Adrenaline rushing through him, the pain in his body dulled and his vision seemed to stabilize at least a little. He whipped around, and still slowed by his injuries he moved as fast as he could in the direction of the stairs. He had to save her. He couldn't lose everyone. He had to—
  
  "Hyuhhhghhh..." His breath caught, something sharp piercing him in the back. He had been stabbed again, but this time straight through the back and in the lung. Blood bubbled up into his mouth, leaking out the corners of his lips as he dropped to his knees. His blue eyes were wide with shock, sparkling with the all-too-late realization that there were two attackers. Two killers. His chest seized as he was unable to get any more air in. "Hugh-uh-uh..." He was gasping for oxygen, starving for it, but nothing was coming in. He was dying. The dark spots that danced at the corners of his vision now consumed it, and the world got darker and darker as his chest burned without oxygen, until it was all black.
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[Loomis]

CHRISTINE O'MALLEY

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• Full Name: Christine Marie O'Malley
  
  Age: 19
  
  Occupation: Student
  
  Role: Grad Class 1989
  
  Faceclaim: Uma Thurman
  
  Relation: Little sister of Craig O'Malley.
  
  Native or Newbie: Native
  
  Lucky item: A concert ticket from her first concert with her brother. They went the week before he was murdered and it's one of the few memories she has of her brother. She keeps it in her wallet at all times.
  
  Ideal Nightmare: Being chased by an unknown killer. Their face is always in the shadows so she never knows who it is. Eventually the assailant catches up to her and guts her open like a fish.
  
  
  
• 
  Christine’s childhood was the definition of a ‘perfect’ family. Hardworking father that provided for his family and loved his wife dearly. The stay at home wife, tending to the children, cooking and cleaning. An all star athlete son, popular in school, stellar grades and protective older brother. Christine; the adorable little sister, eager to help mom around the house and always trying to tag along with her older brother. All that was missing was a golden retriever and white picket fence.
  
  For Christine growing up in Cobre Flats was all smiles, weekend barbeques, family vacations and happy memories. That was until the summer of 1979. The murder of her older brother and the five others rocked Cobre Flats and ripped her family apart that summer. Christine was still young when it happened and her parents spared her the gory details of that fateful night, but it forever changed the girl. The once bright and carefree child was now anxiety ridden and began lashing out. Her parents didn’t take Craig’s death well either, her father buried himself in work and her mother went into overdrive to try and repair their family and give off the appearance that all was well. Her parents tossed Christine into therapy right away so they wouldn’t have to deal with her new outbursts and trauma.
  
  With therapy Christine was able to get control of herself and things slowly started to turn back to normal, or as normal as they could. In her early years of academics she did wonderfully, but as she got older and stopped therapy things started to slowly slip. The internal battle she was having became too much for Christine and she found other ways to cope, while her parents just tossed the therapy blanket over her problems when they got too out of hand.
  
  Now in her senior year Christine is struggling to keep her grades up, spending most of her time blowing off school with her friends, drinking and occasional drug use. She gave up on school, graduation, all of it. It seemed pointless without having her best friend there to cheer her on. She’s heard rumbling of The Killing Game and stays far away from it, finding it distasteful in light of Cobre Flats history.
  
  She was coasting by until the news of Robin’s death. She wasn’t close with Robin but the details of their death brought up a lot of buried emotions in Christine. She doesn’t believe it was just an accident and has been on edge ever since the news of their death spread across town.
  
  
  
  
• Another Thursday afternoon, another pointless therapy session. Christine had been in therapy off and on since the loss of her brother, Craig, and to her dismay this was one of those “on” time periods. Her parents would bounce between giving a shit about their daughter and being so wrapped up in their own pretentious lives they would almost forget about Christine and her issues. The way Christine saw it was they only cared when she really started to cause trouble and create cracks in their facade of a happy, healthy family dynamic. Her parents cared too much about what people thought about them and how they were accepted in society and in this town, while Christine didn’t care at all.
  
  Christine sat with her legs pulled to her chest, head turned towards the window as she watched the rain crash into the glass. Absentmindedly she brought her fingers to her lips and began to bite down on her fingernails, a new habit that she detested but couldn't seem to break. The chipped black polish a meek attempt to keep herself from chewing on them, she thought if they were painted she’d be less likely to gnaw at them.
  
  “Sorry about that,” The sudden voice caused her to jump slightly, whipping her head around to see it was only her therapist she released the breath that hitched in her chest. “I was just chatting with your mother, catching up and all that.” He smiled down at Christine as he closed the door behind him before settling into the rocking chair opposite of the couch. Christine watched him closely as he rifled through his briefcase to find his journal and a pen. I need to steal that one day and see what exactly he’s been writing about me…
  
  “How are you doing today, Christine?” The question he always started with, another circumstance it would just be small talk, but she knew that every word out of her mouth would be analyzed. Forcing her eyes off the journal he held she met his all to happy gaze, scrunching her nose at his perky demeanor.
  
  “I’m fine,” she replied flatly and crossed her arms over her chest, burying her hands into the oversized sleeves of her black sweater.
  
  “And school? How is that going? Are you excited for graduation this year?” He began tapping his pen against the journal, the constant flicking sound made Christine itch with irritation.
  
  “Graduation?” She scoffed and shook her head, the hairs of her blunt bangs shifting with the movement. Admittedly Christine had not been doing well in school the past year or so. Her parents blamed it on her falling in with the wrong crowd, drinking, staying out late and so on. Which probably played a part in it, but mostly she had stopped trying a long time ago.
  
  “You don't think you will?” He raised an inquisitive brow as he quickly jotted down something in the journal.
  
  “You tell me, I know you have my school records and I’m sure my mom was more than willing to tell you all about my performance at school,” Christine narrowed her eyes at him.
  
  “She did talk about that, she also..” his voice trailed off as he reached back into his briefcase and pulled out a small leather bound journal. Her eyes widened with anger at the site of it, my fucking journal?!
  
  “She brought me this. Said she found it and was concerned about some of the things in here. She wanted us to discuss-”
  
  “Are you fucking serious?! Found it my ass, she had to go digging through my room to find it. I can’t believe her! And you!” Christine stood up and reached across the small coffee table separating the two, snatching the journal from him. “You seriously think I’m going to sit here and read this with you? You’re out of your fucking mind!”
  
  The therapist raised his hand defensively and stood as well, “Now, Christine, let’s try and calm down. Your mother only wants what’s best for you, she’s concerned, and frankly so am I after what she showed me.”
  
  “You both can kiss my ass,” turning on her heel she flung the door to the private office open and stormed out into the small reception area.
  
  “Christine Marie, you get back in there and settle down!” Her mother leapt up from the armchair she was waiting in. Christine just silently held up her middle finger as she dramatically made her exit.
  
  
  
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​

 

[Limeaid]

LASHAY CRAVEN

• BASICS
• SYNOPSIS
• SAMPLE

• 
  Full Name: Lashay Michelle Craven
  
  Age: 18 (Eighteen)
  
  Occupation: Student/Box Office Attendant at La Fortuna Theatre
  
  Role: Grad Class 1989
  
  Faceclaim: Brandy Norwood
  
  Native or Newbie: Newbie-ish, Lashay moved here with her father right before her freshman year.
  
  Lucky item: Two pieces from the favorite vinyl's of her late grandparents, fashioned into a necklace that forms a heart shape.
  
  Ideal Nightmare: Being stuck in a glass box that's slowly filling up with water, banging against the glass for help but no one comes.
  
  
  
• 
  Lashay moved to Cobre flats right before her 14th birthday, She was absolutely pissed about it. Forced to say goodbye to everyone they grew up with. When the first got settled they kept to themselves, as it was always hard for her to open up. Lashay grew to become more and more fond of the town, making a few friends here and there but this isn't home they don't want to stay.
  
  No one in the Craven family was killed or attacked in the ‘79 massacre, however her father grew up in Cobre Flats and he had moved out nine years before the killings, settling down in a few towns over with his soon to be wife.
  
  Lashay obviously knew stories about the infamous killing games, word traveled outside of the town of Cobre Flats and with her father growing up there she was aware of them. She knew he had been apart from his own Killing Games but was very tight lipped about what happened, and would get very upset when it ever was brought up. The whole Killing Games became a sort of boogeyman for Lashay, never knowing fully what went on but dangerously curious. When her father moved in with their grandparents, Lashay started to uncover more and more about the Killing Games. She never wanted to participate, just watch from the sidelines, something she often does.
  
  Lashay generally kept their head down so they didn't know Robin that much other than passing conversations. Gutted for the victim and family, Lashay couldn't help but put herself in Robin’s shoes. If Lashay had turned up dead would the police even care? Or would they write it off since she was this reclusive black kid that most people only ever talked to when they needed homework help. They’ve been obsessing over the games and Robin’s death more than ever, Lashay has a tendency to pour herself into one task and it seems they found their new one.
  
  Lashay has always had big dreams, they love to sing and want to pursue a career in music and knows Cobre Flats isn’t the place. However she's also a realist knowing she can't just hope for a miracle she needs a safety net. Lashay also loves to help people, and loves to pass on knowledge so she is gearing up to go to college to become a teacher. But she has to make it out first
  
  
  
  
• 
  With slam of the door Lashay heart beated out of her chest hearing the attacker clobbered up the stairs. Eyes feverishly darting around the room for a form of escape, the window was a no go they were forced to the 2nd floor with her leg already slashed she would be fucked. The footsteps were now bounding the hallway, frantically trying to find a way to save herself from being gutted and staining the carpet in a pool of red.
  
  Lashay winced as she bounded over to the desk quickly grabbing the paper weight and hiding under over covering her mouth to silence her rapid breathing. Lashays whole body tensed up as the killer broke into the room. She cautiously peered over the desk seeing her opportunity, lobbing the paper weight with the force she could, the blunt object flew smacking the attacker right in their jaw. The attacker dropped their knife holding their jaw in pain. Lashay made a run for the door, not waiting to see what would happen next.
  
  High off adrenalines booked it down the stairs swinging her front door open, before taking a sharp left into her kitchen to escape out her backdoor. Praying the killer would follow the red herring, Lashay made it to her backyard. She climbed over the rusted chain link fence to make it to her neighbors, hopefully finding some form of reprieve from the night's trauma.
  .
  
  
  

coded by BELIAL.​